Ready for Your Act, Don't Hold Back
by 616
Summary: The day that Fred Jones receives his driver's permit on his fifteenth birthday is the day they all leave, right down to thirteen-year-old Velma and the dog. The 'how' and 'why' of it are a mystery except to themselves and to their families and so-called homes and histories they left behind. (Elements of SDWAY/APNSD/WNSD/SDMI)
1. Early Childhood: Shaggy & Scooby

**AUTHOR'S NOTE  
** Content warnings include child abuse / neglect and potentially unrelated (?) mystery case stuff in the vein of Scooby-Doo, all probably equivalent to a T rating throughout. I'll change the rating later if I need to. Not my most polished writing, just bundles of leftover emotion from Mystery Incorporated finale jumbled together with other-canon first time viewing notes from SDWAY / APNSD / WNSD, etc.

* * *

 **Shaggy**

Norville is so hungry, shaking in a curled-up ball on his bed, that he thinks he's about to cry.

Beside Norville and curled up tight next to him beneath the covers—and, like, Mom would have a cow if she could see this, but she's not home, and Dad's not home; no one's around to protect them from any bedroom monsters lying in wait—is a pup named Scooby-Doo.

Scooby's crying already. Norville's so sympathetic with hunger he can't bring himself to tell the puppy to knock it off. So little dog-whimpers keep coming from the tiny furball beside him in a desperate, high-pitched whine that pleads wordlessly for someone to do something to satiate his belly's growling, and the noise hurts Norville worse than the sometimes-stabbing pain in his own stomach.

Norville can't do anything or get out of bed because the monsters in his room are _waiting for him_ to get up and go look for food now that it's dark, and his fear of them's of course infected Scooby-Doo since before the pup could talk and they're both too scared to move for fear of being eaten. The monsters can probably hear both their tummies growling, and their bodies tossing and turning with hunger pains, Norville thinks anxiously. That goes double for Scooby's whining. _Zoinks._

But, they can't help their stomachs, right? And Scoob is so little he can't help crying really either, even though Dad says he can. Norville feels bad for Scooby and he holds the tiny puppy close to him as they try to both be quiet and wait and wait.

All they can do is wait. Namely, for someone to come home, and when that happens they can get up and see if there's food they haven't eaten yet left in the house or more that someone brought back. Even if it means Scooby getting caught inside the house, and Norville getting caught out of bed and both of them getting in big trouble for not listening.

Because sneaking for food around his parents is still better than being eaten and turned into food for scary monsters, who only come out when Norville is alone at home and leaves his bed. They wait to come out for Norville to do something like leave his bed get a snack or go to the bathroom or watch out the windows for cars that might be his dad, or his mom, or even the neighbors.

Norville's dad is a cop and he says monsters are imaginary and that Norville should ignore them and go to sleep _or else._ But Mom said sometimes the monsters in Norville's room were imaginary and yet she also said that monsters ate up little boys that wouldn't be quiet and go to sleep when it was bedtime. Norville already feared the monsters he faced in solitude being real enough for the threat to become truth. So if he wanted to avoid them Norville knew he had better not get up for snacks at night or do anything to mess up the house, or bother his parents when they were busy.

The thing is, though, like…Norville's _always_ hungry and Scooby's even hungrier because Norville's mom only gives Scooby one bowl of dry food every day. And that isn't enough to stave off the little bitty Great Dane's appetite even for an hour after breakfast but Norville's mom won't listen when Norville says Scooby's still hungry. His parents don't understand Scooby like their son does, and that that 'ruwn-gree' really means _hungry_ the way 'Raggy' means Norville. They think Norville just is too imaginative and too overzealous about his brand-new pet, and is trying to spoil him.

So Scooby goes hungry after his measly little breakfast and Norville feels terrible for him. And even though he's often hungry himself he usually tries to help the puppy out by sharing part of his own breakfast and dinner or hiding snacks for Scooby to eat later while his parents aren't watching. He can only do that when the two grown-ups are home to feed either Norville or Scooby, though; and this is a time far back enough it's pretty common that they don't come home for dinner and sometimes leave early before breakfast.

Norville can't remember when the babysitter stopped coming and he doesn't have any concept of a time where parents weren't late coming home or busy with work. All he knows is the new rule is, that he has to be home and stay in bed after the sun goes down. If Norville walks around the house or goes anywhere except his room when it's dark, and his parents aren't back yet, the monsters will get him and Scooby-Doo. So the two of them hide under the blankets and protect each other every night and Norville secretly thanks the puppy for sneaking in bravely to see him from the doghouse.

 _(Which Scooby does, the pup remembers faintly, because it's supposed to be his job protecting Raggy at nighttime, when Raggy's all alone in his house. But how can Scooby watch Raggy from outside in the doghouse when there are scary monsters already inside Raggy's house right under the bed?)_

Norville doesn't miss having a babysitter or really remember her being anything but scary, and he's so happy to have Scooby-Doo. In fact he already can't remember a time before there was a Scooby-Doo, a solid body and kindred spirit there with him to fear the monsters and need reassurance from them as much as Norville did. It's hardest for them both on the nights when Norville's parents don't come home till late at night (or don't come home at all) and there aren't any more groceries left in the house—because Norville can stash the boxes from the pantry or meat and cheese in his room to eat at night without waking the monsters up, and his parents won't know it disappeared, but unless Daphne or one of the other neighbor brings a new box of snacks at playtime and leaves it by accident for Norville to take home then Norville can't do anything to fill up snack boxes by himself when they're already empty.

Norville's parents are busy. His dad eats on patrol and his mom works somewhere and she eats there at her workplace if it's late and she has to stay long before she gets home.

And so nights like this happen, burning into his memory and Scooby's forever. Nights when small Norville and his small pup hold their aching stomachs and toss about wishing for sleep, so they can at least _dream_ of food until morning and maybe wake up to breakfast and no more monsters.


	2. Early Childhood: Daphne

**AUTHOR'S NOTE  
** Content warnings for this chapter include extreme manifestation(s) of mental illness plus series-typical (aka, inappropriately sensitive at times) character reactions to / descriptions of such. The Blakes here are canonically a blend of their characters in APNSD and in the case of Daphne's mother (and her sisters' existence), SDMI. If you've seen the latter you probably know where I'm going with this. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

 **Daphne**

Daphne isn't crying and screaming in the playground because the red-haired bully with the stupid voice had shoved her into the sandbox.

She isn't crying either because of the way he had laughed cruelly at her when he did it, or how he startled her by pushing her roughly from where she was perched delicately on the edge. Daphne isn't crying because the bully had gone on, after that, to step all over the miniature sand version of Blake Manor she'd been carefully sculpting, modeled after her own home. Daphne's not crying because he had—perhaps by accident—kicked some sand in her eyes, while he was crowing and stomping around the sandbox and his big ugly feet were in front of her face.

Daphne is crying, and can't stop crying even when Jenkins arrives to fetch her from the park for making a scene, because now her clothes are _wrinkled_ and she's covered in _sand_ and her hair is _ruined_ and it's worse than anything ever in the entire world.

She doesn't stop crying when Jenkins carries her impassively to the car under one arm; in fact, being inside the limousine gives her more freedom if anything to react like she really wants. Daphne's never thrown a tantrum before but her clothes are all dirty and somehow she pitches a fit in the limousine all the way home, because she looks like a mess and she _doesn't feel safe_ inside her skin and hair and clothes, and it won't come off.

Having her appearance ruined like this is the most frightening thing for Daphne in the world. She doesn't remember when seeing a speck of dirt on her shoes or a wrinkle in her skirt first started making her scream the way bad guys and monsters in movies scare Velma and Shaggy-kid and Shaggy-kid's pup from down the street. But dirt she fears while things like ghosts that aren't even wouldn't ever scare Daphne, obviously. The idea of monsters is absolutely ridiculous, bullies she can yell at or make her father yell at, and burglars she can call the house security on to take outside and beat up politely out of her sight.

But dirt is…well, dirt is everywhere! And it's gross! And there's all sorts of stuff that can catch her hair and clothes, any old table or chair could mess everything up just by brushing past it until she fixes it. Anything could ruin her ensemble and now that a boy's pushed her in sand, everything has.

The unfairness of it and the sand grains between her skin and the car set Daphne off again. She screams some more in near-hysterics because they're not home yet and it's so awful and she knows she has to fix it she has to _fix it_ she has to fix it she has to get the dirt off _she has to get it off._

Wailing and pounding her fists against the bench of the limousine that she's buckled in, in the midst of her temper tantrum, Daphne remembers suddenly, vividly, it wasn't always like this. That she had sometimes, maybe a long time ago, used to run around with Freddie and Shaggy-kid on the playground kicking a soccer ball around the dirt and had fun—even though it kicked dust clouds into the air.

The thought of doing that repulses her now. Sniffling, a fresh wave of tears roll down Daphne's face. And she hates that too, because crying more is going to make her look even uglier and her face all puffy. But she's so angry, so distraught, at the memory. Because back then Daphne's mother hadn't been afraid of dirt either.

Daphne remembers that once (a memory so long past it's fuzzy at the edges) she came back from playing kickball with the boys and her mom greeted her with a hug, and even kissed her cheek. There was a time when Daphne's mom didn't reprove her for coming home or in her sight looking like that, not voicing her disappointment lightly or sharply or even recoil at the sight of her daughter caked in dirt with tangled-up hair.

Daphne doesn't remember how old she was when it changed, but she knows that was all before her mother started screaming at her reflection in mirrors in one of her 'moments, as Daddy called them, if her lipstick was smudged. Or before Mom had convinced all of Daphne's remaining sisters at home to go off private boarding schools for a more elite education and to spare the house from being too messy with children, letting Daphne stay only because she was too young to send away without her friends. Long before the period where the servants had had to clean the floors three times a night so that Mrs. Blake could even leave her room without trembling into a dead faint.

Sometimes her mom's 'issue' gets better and sometimes it gets worse. Recently, it's worse. Daphne's mother was fussy about cleanliness all last month to the point that she began throwing tantrums like a little girl, exactly the way Daphne is doing now. Of course when that happened, or any time when Mom won't leave her room at all or can't stop crying, Daddy yells at her some and then if that doesn't work he calls the men in white coats to take her away. So now she's gone.

And now at home, Daphne is alone. Alone with her father, her father's expectations, and desperate and sad and sorry. Because it was her fault. She was the only one left. And even if Daphne's mom is usually normal again every time she comes home from relaxing time at the hospital, she never stays normal forever, and while the goings-away are rare she stays for longer and longer each time.

No one is home but the regular servants when Daphne and her butler get home from the park. Daphne tears her sand-ruined clothes and shoes off as if they were leeches on her skin, and then lets the ever-suffering Jenkins carry her up to her room and give her a bath. A servant takes away the clothes to be cleaned (and the floor as well) while all dirt both real and imagined get scrubbed from her skin and her hair is washed and conditioned to perfection. Once that's done she calms down again, feeling like a human, like she isn't going to die from how messy she is. Jenkins leaves when she dismisses him and Daphne blinks back some more tears alone in her room, reapplying her makeup from before with hands barely old enough to hold a mascara tube steady.

She breathes and focuses on her task, patient now and already knowing she'll have to redo it several times until it's perfect. Then she'll go apologize to Jenkins for the tantrum and instruct him not to tell anyone. Because she is a Blake; and, like Daddy says, a Blake never looks or acts like anything less.


End file.
